Watson Makes an Edit
by SherlockianGirl
Summary: A collection of one-shots concerning the untold misadventures and amusing situations Holmes and Watson get themselves into over the course of their friendship and investigations.
1. Best Man

**The idea for this particular one-shot sprung from an amusing conversation with Baroness Orc. And I ran with it.**

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"Blast it, Holmes! Stop fidgeting!"

"You know perfectly well that I abhor this tie, Watson."

Sherlock Holmes made a feeble motion to twist away from me, but I would allow him no such opportunity. Not today, of all days. I pulled the silk tie tighter and proceeded to fasten it around his neck before he could issue another protest.

Alas, he would not be silenced. "_Watson_…"

I sighed, exasperated. "I do not have the time to-"

"You are...choking... me."

"Perhaps it will do you some good," I countered irritably as I finished my work.

He gave me a severe look. "I do not see why it is necessary that you treat me as if I were a child."

"I will take no risks today," I answered curtly before turning away.

My friend shifted uneasily in his chair. "I'm afraid I'm not inclined toward this sort of atmosphere, Watson. If it weren't for you-"

I crossed my arms and stared down at him. "Humor me this _one day_, Holmes. If you wish, you have my full consent to analyze every guest's character and motives and then inform me afterward of what crimes you wish to accuse them of."

Holmes chuckled as he pulled his overcoat on. "Perhaps. But only after I have given proper study to today's two foremost suspects."

I couldn't help smiling at the rather peculiar description. "I hope I am committing no felony?"

"I'm afraid it was only too likely to happen, Watson. Best of luck, old chap," he added with a nod as he slipped from the room.

Despite my earlier haste, I found myself giving my remaining minutes pause. My thoughts turned to the church bedecked with fragrant flowers amidst its modest gathering where I myself would stand with them, all poised to watch _her_ grand entrance. A tinge of nervousness overcame me as I made the final adjustments to my suit.

"You're deuced slow, Watson, even for your own wedding," came Holmes's remonstrance from the hall.

I certainly appreciated having such an observant best man.


	2. The Advantage

The Old Westerly House was well known for its oddities, but most of all for the rumored eccentricities of its owner. A most peculiar and isolated man, Westerly was known to be highly of a paranoid type, divulging his presence to the public on very seldom occasions.

When the man was reported missing, Holmes declared that our investigation of the premises was in order. The case seemed hardly worth the trouble, but I attributed his enthusiasm to his recent lack of cases and was only too glad to see his restlessness alleviated.

"Does it not seem strange that there are no authorities present?" I wondered after our arrival at the stately mansion.

Holmes made no answer but sprang onto the porch and reached for the handle of the front door. He frowned. "It is curious for such a reclusive man to keep his doors unlocked."

"Perhaps he left in great haste," I hazarded.

"Perhaps."

After mounting the main staircase, we soon found ourselves in a dimly lit chamber. We had stood inside the room but a moment before footsteps echoed in the hallway and the door behind us slammed shut.

Holmes was immediately at the door, trying the handle. He turned to me with a puzzled look. "Locked."

"Who's there?" a suspicious voice inquired from outside the door.

Holmes spun on his heel to face the door. "_Lestrade!_"

"Why, it's Mr. Holmes!" the inspector replied cheerfully. "Fancy that!"

"Fancy unlocking the door," growled the detective.

"Heavens, the door has no keyhole! How on earth-"

"A latch, Lestrade. A lock. There has to be _something_," Holmes snapped irritably.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Holmes. I see nothing."

"Your _usual_ answer."

"I'm afraid you must wait a bit, Mr. Holmes. What all with that Westerly fellow's disappearance, I should like to take a look around first."

I chuckled at this unexpected and rather comical turn of events.

Holmes gritted his teeth and leaned further against the door. "How very convenient for your purposes, Lestrade."

The inspector laughed. "Perhaps this little thing was planned, but let us not concern ourselves with details. A very important case is at hand. I shall only be a moment."

Holmes, of course, did not find the situation so very amusing and began stalking about the room in a fury, muttering mild curses under his breath. He stopped suddenly and seized me by the shoulders.

"Watson, I utterly forbid you."

I smiled. "You forbid what?"

"That you ever publish this episode in your accounts."

My smile widened. "I had never considered it, Holmes."


	3. The Problem of Women

"_Confound_ it!"

I glanced up from my book in surprise. "Something wrong, Holmes?"

He tossed the telegram in my direction. The paper fluttered to the floor.

"I'm a bit further over here."

"Just pick it up, Watson."

I did as I was bid and read the missive. "It says Mrs. Callaway is in need of your assistance immediately. Well, I see nothing so bad about that."

Sherlock Holmes groaned from where he lay stretched across his usual chair. "I have not the patience this morning, Watson. None at all."

"Patience for what?"

"The problems of a woman."

I raised an eyebrow. "And if it were a man?"

"Would the man be crying hysterically?"

I resumed my seat with a sigh. "Come now, Holmes. Not every woman who comes asking for your aid is in such wild emotional distress."

At this precise moment footsteps sounded on the stairs and I heard my friend sniff contemptuously as he drew himself into a sitting position. The door opened to reveal a young lady of fair complexion and rich attire. She smiled as she took the seat I offered.

"Mr. Holmes," she began. "I'm afraid I've come across a problem that is not in my power to solve."

Holmes was suddenly conducting a study of the patterns on the ceiling. "Pray, continue."

She shifted slightly. "It seems that I was foolish enough to leave a very important letter in plain view. I placed it on the table in the sitting room early this afternoon, and went out only to return a few hours later and find it gone!"

"That _is_ a problem," muttered Holmes, turning his scrutinizing gaze to the nearby curtains.

"I have searched everywhere! Oh, that I had not left it about! If it were to be found, oh!"

Sherlock Holmes perceptibly stiffened, as if bracing himself for some great onslaught.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes!" Mrs. Callaway cried suddenly, rising from her chair. "My husband cannot find that letter! He _cannot_!"

Here she crossed the room and fell to her knees beside where the detective sat. Holmes, in turn, leapt backward onto the seat cushion, squeezing himself into the corner of his chair with a look of utter disdain.

"Please advise me, Mr. Holmes! I'm desperate!"

"So I see."

I decided to intervene, lest Holmes bury himself beneath the chair cushions in an effort to escape. "Mrs. Callaway, have you servants?"

"Why, yes," she sniffed.

"I suggest you question them."

"And there you will find your letter," Holmes firmly added.

She brightened at this idea. "I had not thought of it! Oh! But that must be it! Thank you ever so much, gentlemen!" And with this she rushed from the room and was gone.

Holmes gave me a knowing glare. "I hereby and forever defer all such clients to you."


	4. A Favor Returned

"Absolutely out of the question." Holmes' tone rang with a note of finality upon the matter and he waved a hand, as if willing Lestrade to immediately leave the premises.

But the Inspector held his ground and smiled complacently. "After our aid in the Bradbury case, you promised Scotland Yard a business favor."

"You contort the delicate meaning of the word 'favor'." Holmes replied sharply.

"Oh? The definition seems to be a simple one."

"It is not _my _definition of the word," Holmes countered obstinately.

"Well! When the great Sherlock Holmes comes 'round to writing the dictionary, do inform the Yard."

Holmes shot him an acidic look, and I felt it time to interfere lest violent words be put to action.

"Come now, Holmes! This business cannot be all bad."

Sherlock Holmes turned to me with something akin to a wounded expression upon his face. "Ah, the Doctor has changed his allegiances, I see."

"Your word is upon it, Holmes," I reminded him firmly. "As is your honourable reputation." And, I confess, I did not want to miss this spectacle for the world.

Holmes let out a heavy sigh. "It seems I have no choice but to comply with your proposition, Lestrade. We shall switch places for this case of yours-I shall act as an Inspector of Scotland Yard, and you…" he struggled a moment, then continued, "…and you shall be Sherlock Holmes of Baker-street," he finished between gritted teeth.

Lestrade's smile widened. "I do hope the good Doctor will be kind enough to record this momentous occasion in his annals of your cases."

Never before have I seen such a look of horror come over the face of Sherlock Holmes. He blanched, but recovered quickly, and then turned a stern eye upon me. "It will be better for him if he does not," was all he muttered.

His threatening tone did not escape my notice, but I could not help indulging my amusement. "Perhaps I shall, Lestrade. I'm certain I'll take note of it somewhere, perhaps for future-"

"_Watson_!"

The case promised not to be entirely devoid of interest.

Charles Abernathy minded a prestigious jewelry shop on the Strand, which in turn boasted many profitable connexions with a number of other London companies. Then Abernathy sent word to Baker-street wishing to consult the detective upon a recent matter, as it had been two days since his business partner had been found upon the stairs with a broken leg and five hundred pounds missing from the safe.

With this case at hand, Lestrade settled himself into the sitting room at Baker-street, myself in my usual chair, while Holmes paced behind me in a worn inspector uniform. The entire affair had the air of utter absurdity, and I was of the decided opinion that Holmes would never again agree to undertake a favor for the Yard.

Abernathy, dressed in sombre black, arrived at the agreed time and sank dejectedly onto the settee opposite us. Lestrade reached up and took a pipe from the mantelpiece, filled it with tobacco from his own pocket, and lit it. I heard a small hiss behind me and could well imagine the expression upon Holmes' face.

"Mr. Holmes, I assume you've heard of my little problem?" the man began as turned his anxious gaze upon Lestrade.

"Yes, quite," was the Inspector's reply. He sent up a ring of blue smoke from his lips and gestured languidly first in my direction, then Holmes'. "Mr. Abernathy, may I introduce you to my friend, Dr. Watson, in whom you may have complete confidence, and to Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, in whom you may have almost none whatsoever."

I did my best to cover my sudden chuckle with a small cough, but the kick delivered to the back leg of my chair suggested I had failed in my efforts.

"Pray, do tell your story," Lestrade said coolly, slumping down as far as his chair would allow him and closing his eyes. Holmes moved to stand at the centre of the mantelpiece with his shrewd gaze equally trained upon Lestrade and our visitor.

Abernathy began to recount his narrative, detailing how he had come into the shop in the early morning to check a few matters of business when he discovered his colleague sprawled out upon the staircase, crying out something about a robbery. Abernathy's story, however, was interrupted by a toneless shriek and all eyes turned upon Lestrade, who had begun scraping away on Holmes' violin.

"Blasted thing is never in tune," Lestrade muttered to himself as he continued to rake the bow back and forth across the strings and so fill the room with a chorus of splitting screeches. I did not dare to look at Holmes, lest I behold some fearful beast in his place. Our client, in turn, sat dumbfounded at this turn of events and stared at Lestrade in puzzled silence.

In three swift strides Holmes was at his side and snatching the instrument from the Inspector's grasp. "Do not be so impertinent," he growled.

"Ah, it seems the Inspector does not like my music," Lestrade said cheerily as he turned to face his client. "I do apologize, Mr. Abarthy, as I-"

"It's Abernathy, sir."

"Of course it is, Mr. Abartheeny. Now, at what time did you find your colleague?"

"Half past five this morning."

"At the time it was dark, was it not?"

Abernathy blinked. "Y-yes, it was."

Lestrade pressed his fingertips together and closed his eyes. "Well, there you have it."

"Have what?"

Lestrade pursed his lips together. "I'm afraid I can't tell you, Mr. Abernathy."

Abernathy frowned. "And why not?"

"Because I do not feel like it."

I coughed again and bit down upon the end of my pen. I could not allow myself to laugh, as Holmes was beginning to shake in a silent fury at my side.

Abernathy's brow furrowed and he turned to Holmes. "Inspector, what do you think of-"

Lestrade chuckled. "No, no, Mr. Abernathy. The Inspector's opinion matters very little in this case."

"But he's from the Yard!"

"Scotland Yard is, unfortunately, full of half-wits and dim minds in my humble opinion," Lestrade sighed.

Abernathy folded his arms across his chest. "Then why is he here, Mr. Holmes?"

"He adds something to the room's décor, I believe."

It is rather needless to recount Mr. Abernathy's sudden fury at the preposterous circumstances of this interview, or his exiting Baker-street in a decidedly violent temper. It is, however, worth mentioning what followed.

_"Lestrade!" _ Holmes' voice boomed across our apartments. "What in heaven's name have you done?"

Inspector Lestrade smiled. "Why, Mr. Holmes, only a thing I have hoped for all these years."

"And what, _pray tell_, would that be?" Holmes hissed between clenched teeth.

"To return you a bit of a favor."


End file.
